


Galatea

by Sparkle (kirax2)



Category: Sailor Moon
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-11-01
Updated: 1999-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirax2/pseuds/Sparkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First posted November 1, 1999.</p><p>Disclaimers and Acknowledgments: This story was inspired by Naoko Takeuchi's "Sailor Moon" and also loosely by David Olivier's "Matrose Mond" (unfortunately, I no longer have the link for his lovely series). I am most grateful to both of them for writing such wonderful stories, and no copyright infringement is intended.</p><p>Dedicated to my dear friends at the Fanfic Revolution.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Galatea

**Author's Note:**

> First posted November 1, 1999.
> 
> Disclaimers and Acknowledgments: This story was inspired by Naoko Takeuchi's "Sailor Moon" and also loosely by David Olivier's "Matrose Mond" (unfortunately, I no longer have the link for his lovely series). I am most grateful to both of them for writing such wonderful stories, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Dedicated to my dear friends at the Fanfic Revolution.

At 4:00am, Adrien's eyes snapped open. Every day he awoke with to the same sensations...heart pounding, breathing a little too fast, sweat coating his brow. Fear was an omnipresent companion in his life, but never more so than when he awoke each morning. And that was just the way he wanted it. If he ever let his guard down, even for a second...

For now he was safe. His roommate, as was to be expected, was still wrapped in profound slumber. Carefully, Adrien slipped out of bed and picked up his uniform. He paused a moment and looked at his roommate.

_ May Morpheus sweeten your dreams, and keep you a little longer. _

Adrien slipped into the bathroom to make his preparations for the day. These required both time and privacy, and they were the reason he arose so early each morning. Carefully, he slipped into the uniform, adjusting the bandage around his chest. Carefully, he remembered to wet his razor. He contemplated nicking his cheek for the sake of realism, but decided that it was unnecessary; he had done so twice in the past and had thus already used that trick. If anyone had any suspicions of him, the same trick would not always serve to thwart them.

Finally, he completed his morning toilet. As usual, he still had a good half-hour until anyone else began to get up. And, as usual, he decided to pass the time by going up to the roof.

The air was a little clearer up here, though not completely free of the grey-brown pall which hovered over the city constantly. The city itself was dressed proudly in flags of red with white circles and black swastikas upon them. Adrien gazed pensively over the rooftops. She hardly ever thought anymore about why she had begun this charade in the first place, all that mattered now was maintaining it for as long as she could. She held few illusions about her likelihood of surviving the war, but she would hold on for as long as she could. Someday she would slip, or become ill, and the truth would come out. Then perhaps she would be shot. Or perhaps she would be shot by some Allied soldier, or blown to bits by a bomb, and the truth would remain forever hidden. It didn't really matter to her...either way she would be dead. Of course, the war had to end someday, but to her it seemed as though that day would never come, as though they had always been fighting, and knew no other way to live...just as she had been hiding for so long that she could no longer remember what it was like to live as herself. Or perhaps she just didn't want to remember. What would be the use of longing for what she could never again have?

The minutes ticked away and the sun rose, casting a bloody glow over the city.

 

* * *

The lines of troops stood stiffly at attention. They were all fine young men, chosen because they were considered to be the cream of Germany's youth. Their commander stood at attention, too, and crisply saluted the his commanding officer with a sharp "Heil Hitler!" The commanding officer nodded and returned the salute. Then he turned towards the ranks.

"As you may know, the Fuehrer has been quite impressed by the works of a young artist. He has commissioned this artist to sculpt a statue, an image of the "New Youth" that will exemplify the ethnically pure people of the Reich. This image of the "New Youth" will be used to demonstrate the ethnic superiority of our people to the world. Thus, it is critical that the artist have everything she needs. She has requested a model, or rather, several models, from which she can create the figure of the "New Youth". There can be no better group for her to choose from than this, the elite of Germany's young men. She will be arriving in a few moments to choose her models from this company."

The young men were too well trained to make any noise or comments, but several eyebrows were raised. A minute later, when a car pulled up and a young woman stepped out, many eyes widened. THIS was the young artist whose works had so impressed the Fuehrer?

Her hair flowed in blonde coppery waves over her shoulders, but when the morning sun struck it, it picked out highlights of a pale green. She was dressed in a trim suit which showed off her figure to the best possible advantage, yet without being at all immodest. She walked composedly to the commander and spoke quietly with him for a moment. Then she turned cold eyes upon the men.

"My name is Margarete." Her voice was low and musical, and it cut through the morning air to the very last line of men. "The Fuehrer has done me the great honor of commissioning me to create an image of the 'New Youth'. This image will represent the Reich and be a symbol of its greatness to the whole world." Though her words were simple, and much the same as what they had already been told, the men listened raptly. Somehow, she seemed to infuse each word with a special meaning, and her speech captivated the men and made them stand a little straighter as the commander's had not. "To facilitate my design, I need several models. I will choose from your ranks several men who have the features I am looking for. You may be surprised by some of my choices, for some will be based on specific features without regard for the overall ethnic perfection...or lack thereof...of the individual." With this, she nodded to the commander and began to make her way down the lines of men. The commander followed behind her with a clipboard, marking down the names of her choices. The men watched with envious or disappointed eyes as she looked over the individuals, one by one.

 

* * *

Adrien watched in fascination as the young woman approached. She was amazing. Beautiful, but more than that; alluring, fascinating and somehow mysterious. He tensed as she approached him. He knew that every man in the company was thinking "Choose me! Choose me!" Except him. If she chose him, he would be singled out. Unwanted attention would surely be directed his way. She was nearly to him, now only one man away, now...

The choice was out of his hands.

Now she stood in front of him and he looked down. Their eyes met.

_ How lovely is she, how delightful, how perfect! Like the Nereids of the sea, like Amphitrite, queen of the ocean, hair and eyes blending with the waves, body as light and pale as sea foam...  
     Oh, please choose me, my lovely sea-nymph! _

Adrien blinked...had he been staring? He looked down at the woman before him, and quickly away, so as not to get caught again by her lovely eyes. She, too, was looking down, seemingly inspecting Adrien for suitability as a model. Would she choose him? He hoped she would not, and yet...

_ How elegantly she moved! Her grace was almost unearthly, as though an angel had alighted for a time upon the earth but couldn't quite hide her divine origins. What would it be like to be chosen by her? To talk with her? To-- _

With a quick nod to the commander, she said quietly, "This one will do as well." For a moment, she turned back, and her eyes again brushed across Adrien's. For a moment, the sensation of falling into eternity returned. Then, she moved on to the next man.

In the end, she chose five people. Adrien was one of them.

 

* * *

Adrien watched as her hand danced over the sketch pad, lines appearing beneath her clever pencil as though by magic. Thus far, these sessions had been far easier than he'd dared to hope. She didn't always require him to sit perfectly still, and there were times that they had passed an afternoon in pleasant conversation, as her hand danced across the page. He suspected that she sometimes asked him to come just to be a conversational companion, since the other models were not asked to come half as often as he was.

One day, she looked up to see him staring at her. "What is it?" she asked. "Do I have something on my face?"

Adrien blushed. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare. It's just...I was looking at your hair."

"My hair? Oh!" Comprehension flooded her face. "You mean, the coloration?"

Adrien looked uncomfortable. "Yes. It's so pretty...I mean..." he stopped, flustered.

Margarete smiled. "Thank you. I used to swim a great deal, and I still try to swim at least once a day. The chlorine turns my blonde hair a greenish shade. It used to bother me, a little, but I don't care anymore."

"I like it. Have you ever swam in the ocean?"

Margarete's eyes grew distant. "Once...before the war. It was...wonderful."

"I just thought...your hair...you look like my image of Amphitrite, of the Nereids...I'm sorry, you must think I'm crazy, talking like this..."

"Amphitrite, the wife of Neptune, the god of the sea...would you think she had green hair, then?"

Adrien looked surprised. "You have an interest in mythology, too? Yes, I always imagined that she had sea green hair...after all, she was married to the god of the sea. She probably lived in the sea."

Margarete's voice was wistful. "To live in the sea, always...to be rocked to sleep by the waves and awoken by sunlight sparkling on the water..."

_ But if you went and lived in the sea, I'd be alone again. You wouldn't leave me alone, would you? Please don't leave me alone. _

Margarete was startled out of her reverie. "What?"

Adrien looked at her oddly. "I didn't say anything."

 

* * *

Margarete awoke suddenly, a cry upon her lips. It was early; the sun hadn't even risen yet. Driven by the memory of her dream, she turned on her light and took her sketchpad from its drawer. A figure began to appear beneath her clever hands, the figure of a woman. First the outline took shape, and then the details: breasts, eyes, short hair in spread like a halo about her head as she slept. When she had finished the last stroke, Margarete looked at the picture she had drawn and caught her breath. The body was that of a beautiful, naked woman, but the face, (so content in repose!) was that of one of her models. She looked again. The face did not seem out of place, it was no grotesque parody of a man's head on a woman's body...it was a woman's face, gentle and yet strong. Tears came to her eyes for a moment as she gazed at the image of the sleeping girl. "I wish...I wish I could sculpt you," she said softly to the image. "Instead of what the Fuehrer wishes me to create." Suddenly angry, she threw down the sketch book.

_ And even if I sculpted you, created you, what then? Would I long for you to come to life, as Pygmalion with Galatea? The real Adrien is a man, and you are but a creation of my warped dreams! _

She snatched up the book again and tore the sketch from it. She was determined to destroy it, to tear it up, but something stayed her hand. Finally, she tucked it away beneath her mattress.

 

* * *

"...think, Adrien? Adrien?"

Adrien looked up, startled. "What?"

"What do you think?"

"I'm sorry, I was wool-gathering. What were you saying?"

"You've been awfully distracted, lately, haven't you? Now what could it be that has the unflappable Adrien so distracted that he's actually late to meals and wool-gathers during our fascinating conversations?" his friends leered at him.

"Perhaps his thoughts are on a certain lovely young lady--" began another.

"Shut up!" His response had been too sudden, too violent, he realized as his friends broke into laughter. He should have responded with cold incomprehension.

The trouble was, of course, that they were right: he _had_ been thinking about Margarete. He knew he was thrice over a fool, yet no sooner would he determine to banish her from his thoughts than her lovely face would appear before his eyes, or he would be reminded of something she said in that low, musical voice... "There he goes again!" cried one of the men, slapping him on the back. "You've got it bad." He flushed, and his friends laughed harder. "She'd never have you, Adrien, her family is one of the richest in the country, you know. You should just forget about her--"

"Do you think I don't realize that?! Do you think I haven't tried?! I know she'd never have me, but...I can't stop thinking about her anyway!" Adrien stormed off, and his friends delighted in finally getting a rise out of the man whose iron self-control was almost legendary.

 

* * *

Adrien sat on the roof, brooding. Even if she had been a man, Margarete would never look twice at her. And as it was, even if Margarete looked twice at her, Adrien could never pursue her. She raged impotently at her emotions that were rapidly spiraling out of control. That scene just now should never have happened, and it never would have happened a month ago. But now...

A face floated before her, an image of a woman with gold-green hair and warm, smiling eyes.

And in counterpoint, remembered words echoed in her head. Words that were harsh to her ears and that she'd heard too many times:

> "The greatest expression of manhood is to be a soldier.  
> The greatest expression of womanhood is to be a mother."

How many times had she heard and read those words? Yes, women were highly valued in Germany...in their capacity to produce more Germans. She remembered Adrien's derisive snort when he'd first heard those phrases.

Now why was she thinking about her brother? _She_ was Adrien now, and it had been his little sister, Fern, who had been buried, remember? A small gravestone next to the larger ones of her parents clearly bore her name. Adrien had been poorly named; his friends had teased him about being so fair when his name meant "dark". But "Fern" had proven to be a very apt name indeed. She was "remote" indeed, nearly as much as the real Adrian, now.

 

* * *

It had been almost like a game, in the beginning. She'd had nothing except her own wits to rely upon. She and her brother had been very much of a height. It was easy to put on his clothes, easy to assume his identity...easier than she'd expected. Now the game had gone on too long. She'd escaped one kind of prison only to find herself in another.

 

* * *

Margarete had finished sculpting the head. Today would be a day of reckoning in more ways than one. Today she would have Adrien model for her again. But this time would be a little different.

He came in quietly, looking as handsome as ever in his uniform. Margarete smiled to herself, assuredly her crazy fantasies would be banished forever today. She smiled sweetly at him, this man who had become such a good friend to her over the past few weeks.

"I've finished with the head," she said. He grinned at her.

"Really? When do I get to see it?"

"Not until the whole thing is finished!"

Adrien's grin widened. "So, what next?" he asked casually.

"Well, today I need you to take off your shirt."

Adrien froze, his face turning a little white. "I...I beg your pardon?"

"I need you to take off your shirt. The sculpture will be in uniform, of course, but I need to have sketches of the body that that uniform will fit over."

Adrien swallowed. "I...I see."

"Is something wrong?"

"Well...you see...I will probably not make a very good model."

Margarete's heartbeat accelerated just a little. "Why ever not?" she asked, striving to sound casual.

"I...I'm...flawed. I have a large scar on my chest."

A quick pang of disappointment flashed through Margarete. "You do? How did you get that? And how have you hidden it?"

Adrien looked grim. "I've hidden it with a combination of trickery, bribery, and wit. As to how I received it...I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."

"Of course, I'm sorry if I intruded. But I would still like you to model for me."

"What? But--"

"I didn't just choose you for your head, I chose you for your shoulders and arms. I don't want a great hulking brute for this "Superman", but rather someone who is strong in a more subtle way...as you are. I don't mind about the scar, but I still need you to take off your shirt."

Adrien's face was a study in misery and embarrassment, but there was a hint of something else (...was it fear...? Or something altogether different...?) underlying the surface emotions. "Is it _really_ necessary?"

Margarete's eyes were sharp. "Yes," she said crisply. "Show me."

Adrien turned deathly pale. "Very well. But...not here." Margarete looked around at the airy, open studio. "Why not?"

"Someone might see. You have so many windows, and a servant or someone might wander in..."

Margarete sighed. "Very well. It'll be a little cramped, but follow me."

"Where are we going?"

"My room."

 

* * *

Margarete's room was on the second story, and all the way up the stairs, Adrien was thinking about bolting. It was no use, though, she didn't see anyway out of it. She was going to have to trust Margarete with her secret. The thought grated upon her terribly, but secretly, oddly, it also excited her. Never had she felt so out of control of a situation. Never had her emotions been in such a confused tangle.

Margarete led the way into her room, a small bedroom at the corner of the house. First, she closed and locked the door. Then she drew the blinds. Finally, she sat down on the bed. Adrien stood across from her. "Show me," she said again in a clear voice.

Adrien squirmed. She had to tell her! "I--"

Margarete jumped up and put a finger to her lips. "I promise I won't laugh. Just...show me."

Adrien hesitated, then nodded. How could she explain it, anyway? It would be easier just to show her. She unbuttoned and removed her jacket, and then unbuttoned, but did not remove, her shirt. She proceeded to unwind the bandage she had bound around her breasts.

Margarete caught her breath.

_ What miracle is this, that has made the unyielding ivory of a male's flesh into the soft, pliant body of a woman? I know not how thou hast brought this about, oh Aphrodite, but if this indeed be thy doing, I thank thee and praise thy name unto the heavens. _

Now they were revealed, her nipples puckering at the sudden release of pressure and unexpected caress of cool air. Adrien couldn't bear to meet the other girl's eyes, but her head shot up quickly when Margarete reached out and drew a finger over one of her nipples.

It was Adrien's turn to catch her breath. Then the unexpected touch against her sensitized skin paralyzed her. A thousand tiny sparks seemed to dance over her, making her tremble. She was held frozen, as though the only living part of her body was the point of contact between the other girl's hand and her own flesh.

Slowly, gracefully, Margarete's other hand came up to caress Adrien's now exposed skin. Adrien gasped as sensations ran through her like electricity, shooting through to her core. Her breaths became quick and shallow as Margarete's quick, clever hands began to explore her breasts. A small, involuntary moan escaped her lips, and her hands came up to grip Margarete's shoulders tightly. For a moment, she nearly pulled Margarete into her body, into an embrace. Instead, she firmly pushed her away and backed away from her. Stumbling away, she encountered the bed and sat heavily upon it, wrapping her arms around her exposed chest and still-tingling nipples.

"Why?" she asked hoarsely, her head hanging down and her voice echoing with her inner turmoil. "Why...are you doing this?"

Confusion suffused Margarete's features. "I...I don't know," she said slowly. "From the moment we met, I felt something...drawing us together. I thought...I thought you felt it, too. I'm sorry," she looked away, "I guess I didn't consider that you might not want me...the way I wanted you. I was selfish..."

Adrien stared. "Of course I want you!" Margarete looked up quickly. "How could anyone not want you? But...I'm a...a woman," she choked out. "How could you want me?"

Margarete knelt down and drew out a piece of sketch paper from beneath her mattress. "Even when I thought you were a man, I dreamed that you were a woman. I don't know how, or why, but..." she trailed off and handed the sketch to Adrien.

Adrien's eyes widened as she unfolded the sketch. "It's...me! It's...me? How did you know?"

Margarete shook her head. "I don't know, it came to me in a dream. I thought I was going crazy. All I knew was that this," she gestured to the picture, "Was the one that I wanted. I thought it was impossible, since you were a man. But, you're not a man, after all." _And so I have my precious Galatea after all._

"But, if we were together...don't you understand? Don't you see how dangerous it is?"

Margarete frowned. "Why? No one will know--"

"Look, if it were discovered that I'm a woman, I'm not sure what they would do to me. They might kill me, or put me in a concentration camp, or torture me as a spy. It's a chance I'm willing to take...a chance that I no longer have any choice about taking...and that I never really had any choice about taking in the first place! But if I were discovered and we were thought, or even suspected to be lovers...Margarete, do you know what they do to people like us?"

Margarete's face paled, and she swallowed hard. "Yes, but--"

"All your money and your social position wouldn't protect you! I couldn't protect you! And I...I c-care about you too much to allow that to happen."

Margarete looked down at the figure sitting on her bed, her head bowed, her hair hanging into her eyes and her arms still wrapped around her chest. So strong and vulnerable...

"I know it's selfish, but I still want you," she said, and swooped down to wrap her arms around the other girl. Using her body as leverage, she pushed her backwards and pressed her lips against Adrien's.

It was a kiss of surpassing sweetness. Finally, Adrien broke away and gasped, "Haven't you heard a word I said?"

"Every one of them. Allow me to make my own decisions about what risks I'm willing to take."

_Cruel Circe! Siren! Temptress..._

Adrien's voice was bitter. "Are you just...playing with me?"

_No._

"No. I love you."

Adrien froze. "What?"

"I love you," said Margarete quietly.

Adrien looked into that lovely, serious face. "I love you, too," she said softly. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I'm willing to take the chance. Life is meaningless without love."

Adrien's face was grim. "Maybe, but life may be a lot shorter WITH love."

In response Margarete kissed her again. This time, Adrien didn't fight. This time, she responded with all the passion she'd kept locked away from the moment they'd met.

_ She marveled, watching as the unyielding ivory became soft and supple as her fingers played across it. Everywhere she touched became warm and suffused with life, and so she touched everywhere. She could feel the body awakening beneath her hand, the pulse racing at the suggestion of her fingers. _

_ And her lover responded, awakening her as she had been awakened, with tender caress and gentle touch. _

 

* * *

 

* * *


End file.
